


Beasts are not so bad, after all

by Reindeerlady



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse of Khuzdul, Adopted Children, Adoption, Bad Elvish Translations, Changelings too, Character Death Fix, Dwarves too, Fantastic Racism, Fix-It, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, LGBTQ Female Character, Lesbian Character, Meddling Wizard(s), Multi, No Smut, No Tauriel, OC is not shipped with anyone, Oral Fixation, Sexism, That is not what you think it means creeps, Ugh, elves are weird, i wrote this at 2 am
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-03-07 07:28:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18868579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reindeerlady/pseuds/Reindeerlady
Summary: The Hobbit OC-Fix it-79 years ago, Smaug, a Fire Drake from the north, attacked the Kingdom of Erebor and the Dwarves were devastated.Years later, Bilbo Baggins was born in the Shire, far away and safe.Many years after that, Pangur was born.And that is where the story changes.





	1. Spring Frost

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t own The Hobbit or anything Tolkien wrote! I’m just a depressed lesbian with a laptop who’s ignoring all my assignments!

Once upon a time, in a world that is far away, existing timelessly far away from our own, there lived a girl. A Human girl who wasn’t entirely human, who’s father was very tall and broad and spent many days away, his skin like leather and his teeth yellow with pipeweed, chipped with chewing on tough and spoiled foods.  
Her mother was tall, perhaps not as tall or quite as broad as her very human father, her mothers eyes were big and red like two ripe apples, her body was made of tougher and older things than humans. Her mother had two hands like a man, though longer and sharper, and two feet, though furrier and quicker. Her mother was devil like in her sharp toothed smiles and her wild movements and habits. Her mother woke with the cold and the moon, and when the dark rose she would thrive. The girls mother was something different, something called a changeling.  
Not the kind you may have heard of, still unnerving and pretty things that men such as the girls’ father perversely long for, nor are they evil clones that replace stolen children and loved ones.  
Changelings in middle earth are faeries. They are fleeting, sneaky, hairy creatures that bring misfortune. They are as wild as the wilds and as strange as the unknown.  
So, the girl was born to a man who was sick with love, and the Changeling who he could bring out of the wilds, but he couldn’t take the wild out of. So perhaps, while unfortunate, it was really no surprise that when the babe was born in the very early hours of an unexpected spring frost, the mother wandered out into the forest with the girl clutched to her breast, filled with a primal urge to hunt and hunt for her spawn. It was then that the mother, normally agile and unaffected by the harsh elements, the mother who was still very weakened by the birth, slipped. Ice is normal in the cold, and it is common for one to slip on ice, and fall, and tumble, and hit her head very hard on a rock by a frozen river-bank, and for ones vision to blur as blood escapes her head quickly and heavily.  
So when the father discovered his love had fallen to mother nature, his babe asleep and cold, no one thought much of anything when he took the child from the fallow lands and farms, to the closest town, just two days away on horse back. No one was surprised when he quietly handed the bundle of his little girl over to the nice young innkeepers one dark eve and rode off, out of town and the lantern he carried slowly disappearing into the inky night sky, the sound of horse shoes eventually drowned out by the night.  
So the child grew up, for 9 years in a town called Bree. Bree is an in-between, sad sort of place for lost people, travelers, and drunkards. It’s muddy and foggy. It is a town of men. But she was not entirely a man. Her eyes were big and brown, and her cheeks were pudgy like any human child, but she was always lanky and had more paws than hands, her teeth sharp and legs quick and tall. The child grew up in the prancing pony, pretending to clean dirtied floors with water and rags and listening with an incurable hunger to stories of travel, adventure, great roads and great lands, and Dwarves and Elves. As soon as the girl could walk, she was running out into the dreary woods just outside of Bree and pretending to fight Dragons and Balrogs. As soon as the girl could talk, she was babbling a million questions to travelers and anyone who would tell her of the world outside. As soon as she learned to read and write from a scribe who was passing through and took a great deal of pity on her, she was writing down tips for traveling and survival from the patrons. As soon as she cut her hair entirely too short to be ladylike, and turned her old blanket into a cloak with the sewing she had unwillingly learned, and guiltily snatched a few coppers from the register, she was on her way at 9 years old.  
Of course, she many have gotten robbed a couple times, and stabbed in the arm once, and gotten into fights an uncountable number of times, but she was happy being wild, in her old green cloak and stained grey pants and sturdy brown boots, hickory colored hair falling in messy, thick tufts that stood up every-which-way and only falling a few inches past her ears, awkward enlarged raccoon paws like her mother, she was content with only her bag and unorganized papers and whatever she could find to eat.  
And, eventually the creature bought a pair of deer leather gloves with saved up coins, so the villages of men wouldn’t turn her away. And eventually, the creature contentedly went about her days, wandering the world and great east road like all the travelers did and finding wonderful adventures of her own. And maybe, she was happy being known as a strange, tall, young boy who told stories of his great adventures to the children of the people who let him have a bowl of stew and sleep in their cottage for the night. And maybe she was happy.  
But of course, that isn’t even the beginning my friends.  
Lets see then, where does this start? Ah, yes, about 6 years later, that girl was still on the road, and not planning on leaving its beauty anytime soon. She had seen mountains, oceans, forests, and met all sorts of lovely and not so lovely folk. 6 years later, the girl still had a flat enough chest and still cut her hair and still wore a faded green, big, baggy cloak and her sturdy brown boots, and had a weatherproofed rucksack made out of the same stuff as her trusty gloves, with some coppers, a couple silvers, a journal, and some bread she had picked up that morning from Bree. 6 years later just before dawn, she didn’t plan to meet a thoughtful looking old fellow while her gloves were off and she was washing her paws in the river. He was very curious of her, with a big grey beard, and a big grey hat, and a big gray cloak, and a big old staff and pipe. She was certainly used to unexpectedly meeting new people and making friends, but eventually and always departing to fuel her never-ending wanderlust.  
So she walked and talked with an old wizard, and told stories to him, and he told stories just as captivating in return. She walked next to him, chatting merrily for a couple hours as they passed through a pretty green place she had never been before, but it was so very early and no-one was out yet. As the two began walking up hills and winding paths, small and cautious people peered out of the windows and crossed to the other sides of dirt roads when the pair came close.  
When they came across a very put together looking home, Gandalf, the wizard, stopped abruptly in front of it. On the bench sat one of the little judgmental creatures, smoking a wooden pipe and looking less peaceful and more bewildered once he took notice of the grey old wizard and the scruffy looking human lad standing at his front gate.  
“Good Morning.” The Hobbit, Bilbo Baggins was his name, greeted in surprise.  
“What do you mean? Do you mean to wish me a good morning, or do you mean it is a good morning whether I want it or not,” Gandalf raised one bushy brow, “ Or perhaps you mean to say you feel good on this particular morning, or you are simply stating it is a morning to be good on, hm?”  
“All of them at once, I suppose.” Bilbo replied.  
“ Hmm.”  
“Can I help you?” Bilbo asked, looking utterly lost already.  
“That remains to be seen.” Gandalf said, and paused as if deep in thought. 

“I’m looking for someone to share in an adventure.” 

The lad glanced at Bilbo, blinked, and grinned big, displaying all his teeth. Very sharp looking.  
Bilbo shifted his eyes back to Gandalf, who looked at him with a calculating expression, and narrowed, expectant eyes.  
Bilbo gulped.


	2. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who is knocking at the door?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own The Hobbit or anything Tolkien wrote! I'm just a depressed lesbian with a laptop who's ignoring all my assignments!

“Now, I don’t imagine anyone west of Bree would have much interest in adventuring. Nasty, disturbing, uncomfortable things, they make you late for dinner.” The Hobbit stated firmly, then chucked a bit nervously to himself.  
“Hmm.”  
“Oh, uh, good morning.” Bilbo said.  
“Now, to think I have lived to be good-morninged by Belladonna Took’s son,” Gandalf grumbled, leaning of his staff, “ as if I was selling buttons door-to-door.”  
“Beg your pardon?”  
“You’ve changed, and not entirely for the better Bilbo Baggins.” Gandalf said.  
“I’m sorry, do I know you?” Bilbo asked rather impatiently.  
“Well you know know my name, but you do not remember that I belong to it. I am Gandalf, and Gandalf means me.” He replied.  
“Gandalf...not Gandalf the wandering wizard... you who made such excellent fireworks? From Old Took’s parties in midsummer?” Bilbo seemed to forget himself as he laughed good-naturedly, then cleared his throat.  
“No idea you were still in business.”  
“And where else could I be?”  
Bilbo looked down sheepishly.  
“Well, I am pleased you remember something about me, if only my fireworks. Yes, it is decided, and I’m positive it will be good for you, ” Gandalf decided cryptically, “ And most amusing for myself.”  
“I shall inform the others.”  
“Inform the who- what?” Bilbo questioned.  
“ No, no, wait! I don’t want any adventures here, thank you very much! I suggest you try over the hill, or across the water! Good-morning! ” He exclaimed, then stood up from his bench, and took his pipe and the letters he was pretending to read, puffing out his chest and beginning to speed walk over to his freshly painted door.  
“Oh, my dear Bilbo! I have a favor to ask of you!” Gandalf called to the exasperated Hobbit, who was still turned away and walking up his steps.  
“I apologize, Master wizard, but-”  
“Watch the boy for me, good fellow.” Gandalf said.  
“Now wait just a moment-” Bilbo practically fumed, whirling around in surprise to find no bothersome wizard, but a disheveled looking lad still grinning big and wildly at him.  
“Oh, Yavanna help me.” Mr. Baggins whimpered pitifully, and paused where he was.  
“Nice to make your acquaintance Mr. Baggins, lovely day for it.” The boy spoke, greeting him an amused tone.  
After taking a moment to gather his thoughts, Bilbo turned to him, “ Likewise, master...?”  
“Pangur.” He smiled and tilted his head, animal like.  
“Never heard a name such as that before,” Bilbo commented, “ Well I suppose I can't leave you out when its so cold.”  
“Don’t mind Mr. Baggins.”  
“Oh, please do come in. I’m sure I can find something for your skinny self to eat.”  
“Thank you Mr. Baggins.”  
“I suppose you may call me Bilbo. Now then, when was the last time you bathed?” Bilbo fretted, analyzing the grimy, boney, and sharp-toothed thing Gandalf had left on his doorstep. He sighed, for he had been left as a nanny for this child.  
“It rained on my travels only two days ago.” Pangur mused.  
Bilbo blinked disbelievingly at him.  
“Oh, my dear lad. Come in, I’ll fetch the soap immediately.”  
“I don’t mind if you use a garden hose to spray me down, a few people have.” Pangur said as bilbo, who only came up to Pangur’s waist, grabbed his wrist and began pulling the tall, filthy creature inside his home which would soon no longer be pristine and spacious.  
“ _Can’t I ever just have some peace_?” Bilbo thought miserably.  
-  
The day had passed quickly, and not too poorly at that.  
Bilbo dumped a towel and a bar of scented soap into Pangur’s impossibly long arms, after asking the boy to kneel so he could do so.  
After pointing him in the direction of the guest bath, and hoping that his body could fit in the tub which was made for Hobbits, Bilbo shuffled into the kitchen and stress-ate a seed cake, then put the kettle on and made a sandwich for his unexpected guest. One for himself, too.  
About 10 minutes later, a far cleaner looking face with the same ragged clothing entered his kitchen and propped himself against Bilbo’s kitchen door frame.  
“Do sit down Master Pangur.” Bilbo was still altogether bewildered by the names of men.  
“Just Pangur if I’m to call you Bilbo.” He replied in a friendly manner, and plopped himself down on one on Bilbo’s Hobbit sized chairs, which on any normal day would be a much more funny sight, what with his legs bent at his sides so his knees touched his shoulders, and his wool socks ( thank the Valar he removed those boots,) were resting on the chair itself. He was all hunched forward and folded in a painful looking position, but seemed perfectly comfortable. So Bilbo ignored it.  
After eating an uncomfortable second-breakfast with Pangur, he decided the lad wasn’t too much trouble, more polite than any other uninvited guest he had hosted, even if he got crumbs everywhere, and carried himself unfamiliarly, he cleaned up afterwards and seemed kind.  
So he asked Pangur to weed his garden for him while he went to the market, and hoped not to see any meddling wizards.  
When he returned just in time for afternoon tea, the lad was covered in dirt again, sitting on his back porch and reading a book from Bilbo’s shelves, one about the Shire’s native plants, holding it his soil-caked gloves.  
“Hope you don’t mind.” He said, and Bilbo was flustered, and a bit upset, but supposed he was never going to pick it up again, and at least his garden looked much better since he hadn’t gotten around to weeding yesterday.  
They drank tea, and they sat together quietly and read in Bilbo’s living room into the early evening, him in his armchair, and his guest for some reason lounging on his fathers old rug rather than the perfectly good couches.  
Bilbo prepared dinner alone and left the lad to his own devices, quietly worrying about what to do if Gandalf didn’t return and worrying about what he would do if Gandalf did return.  
Suddenly, two very loud knocks from the door shook him from his inner struggle, and Bilbo looked up from his butter knife and his spices with a great frown.  
“Wonder who that might be.” Pangur hummed with anticipation, another rather crude grin finding its way onto his face.


	3. The most peculiar gathering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo has a heart attack and Pangur eats like a raccoon, and yay! The company is arriving!

Bilbo shook his head, as if to scare away his thoughts, licked a bit of butter from his thumb, and stumbled right over to the door, wondering who it could be, hoping Gandalf had come to take the boy back in his custody.  
Unlocking and creaking the door open, he saw a tall person, the back of their bald head, and when they heard the door unlatch, they turned: A Dwarf! There was a big Dwarf with tattoos and battle axes on his doorstep, who looked mighty intimidating and wore a scowl on his face. Bilbo would guess the fellow was only a couple inches short of 5 feet, he was so mighty. Though he had a much taller guest in his living room, this new visitor was heavily muscled and didn’t look to happy to see Bilbo, who thought he may faint soon.   
“Dwalin, at yer service.” His voice was heavily accented and deep, and it snapped Bilbo from his observations.   
“ Bilbo Baggins at yours.” He replied automatically.   
“Dwalin” stepped past Bilbo and through the door, ducking a bit and seemingly not even slightly paying attention to Bilbo’s frustrated and puzzled expression.   
“Do we know each other?” Bilbo blurted out, louder than he meant to.   
The Dwarf turned to him, scowl remaining, “ No,” he looked down the hall, “ Which way laddie? Is it down here?”   
“I-Is what down where?”   
“Supper. He said there’d be food, and lots of it.”   
“He said...? Who said?” Bilbo was starting to get a bit of a headache.  
Dwalin ignored his questions and shrugged, picking a hallway and following it.   
Entering the kitchen, Dwalin spotted Pangur lounging at the dining room table alone, and narrowed his eyes.   
“ Who’s the human lad, an’ whats he doing here?”  
“Oh, um, that would be Pangur. A- a wizard brought him here.” Bilbo said.   
“Gandalf, aye?” Dwalin un-tensed, but still looked guarded and suspicious , “ must have a reason then.”   
-  
Soon enough, Dwalin was seated at the dining room table, a few seats down from Bilbo’s other unwanted visitor, with far worse table manners than Pangur, and eating Bilbo’s dinner like a wolf.   
“Mm, very good this, anymore?” Dwalin grunted with a mouth full of salmon.  
“What? Oh, yes, yes,” Bilbo stammered, his hands fumbling, “ help yourself.”   
For a moment, the only noise in the room was sound of chewing.   
“Its just, I wasn't expecting any company-”   
A rapping of knocks from the front door cut the Hobbit off.   
“That’ll be the door.” Dwalin grunted.   
Bilbo scampered over to answer it, and was greeted by another, less intimidating Dwarf upon opening the door.  
“Balin, at your service.”   
“Good evening.” Bilbo greeted incorrectly.   
“Ah yes it is, but it does look like rain later,” Balin wiped his boots on the step, “ Am I late then?”   
“Late for...?   
“Oh, haha!” Balin laughed, pushing past Bilbo and into the dining room.  
“Evening, Brother.” Balin hoisted up his gold belt as he entered the room.  
“By my beard, you’re shorter and wider than last we met.” Dwalin rose from the chair to greet his brother.   
“Wider, not shorter,” he corrected, “ And sharp enough for the both of us.”   
The Dwarrow chuckled together boisterously in unison, knocking foreheads together, hard and quick, making Bilbo wince.   
“Oh, and who might you be lad?” Balin took notice of the half fairy, who was in the same painful looking position as before and pecking at a bread slice, “ Balin, at your service.”   
“Pangur, at yours and your family’s.” Nodding to Dwalin, who stood next to his brother during the last set of words, Pangur met his gaze and gave a friendly smile, teeth completely visible.   
Balin’s eyes widened.   
“Quite the set of teeth ye got there, laddie.”   
“Thank you.”   
“The wizard brought him here, the burglar tells me.” Dwalin informed.   
“Oh?”   
“Excuse me, sorry, I do hate to interrupt, but I am not entirely sure you two are in the right house.” Bilbo said.   
“Have ye eaten, Nadad?”   
“I like guests as much as the next Gentle-Hobbit, but I like to know them before they come to visit.” Bilbo continued as he was being blatantly ignored by the now trio at his dining room table.   
“What’s this then?”   
“Not sure.”   
“I think its cheese, gone blue.”   
“It’s riddled with mold.”   
“It reeks too.” Pangur added.   
“The thing is, I don’t know either of you in the slightest...” Bilbo stated, having trouble keeping his cool.   
The Hobbit was constantly ignored as the brothers inspected the moldy block of cheese and became aquatinted with the child sitting next to them.   
“..I’m sorry.” Mister Baggins finished, ignorant to the fact that no one had been paying attention to his mumbling.   
“Apology accepted.” Balin assured Bilbo, guessing that their host was referring to his blue cheese.   
And thus, Balin went back to catching up with Dwalin while Bilbo began to break out into a sweat, just as he heard two fists knocking on the door.   
Please, please just be the damned wizard so all of this may be sorted out.   
After swinging the door open rather desperately, Bilbo did not find a wizard. No, two scruffy young Dwarrow turned,   
“ Fili.”  
“And Kili.”   
“At your service.” They finished together, giving a bow in unison.  
Why did all these stray teenagers come knocking at his door?   
“You must be Mr. Boggins!” Kili, the brown haired one, exclaimed excitedly.   
“No, can’t come in!” Bilbo blurted, and began to shut the door as younger looking one shoved practically half his body through the door.  
“ Has it been cancelled?” He furrowed his brow, doing a wonderful job of puppy eyes, so much so that Bilbo accidentally tried to reassure him.  
“No one told us.” Fili commented.   
“What? No, nothings been cancelled!”   
“Great!” Kill replied with a wide smile, striding through the door with his elder brother in tow.   
“Careful, just had these sharpened.” Fili said, dumping many awfully sharp looking blades into the bewildered Hobbit’s arms.   
Kili chattered and wiped his muck covered boots on Belladonna’s glory box, then followed his blonde brother down the hall to the kitchen just as the others.   
“Lads, give us a hand!” Dwalin bellowed, a variety of furniture tucked under his arms.   
“Mr. Dwalin!” Kili greeted ecstatically.   
“Help us move these into the hallway, or well never fit all of us.” Balin said.   
“All of you?” Bilbo exhaled and looked fit to have some sort of episode.   
“Who’s that then?” Fili questioned out of the blue, as Kili took a peek in the direction his brother was pointing to rather rudely.   
Helping Balin lift the other end of the coffee table was an odd looking human boy in a ragged cloak.   
“The lads called Pangur. Wizard brought him here.” Dwalin grunted, and continued to carry out of the room what looked to be a dresser of some sort and a couple other boxes by himself.   
“Oh, he can’t be older than me.” Kili smirked.   
“ Agreed Kee, now we won’t just have Ori to mess with. We must bring him along, and I say we introduce ourselves at dinner.”   
“Splendid idea, Fee.”   
\-   
After Blibo had impatiently jerked the door open a fourth time, 8 Dwarves quite literally fell through his door, Gandalf just behind them.  
“Gandalf, a word?” He said sourly, dangerously even.   
Pangur had never seen such a small being so cross in all her 15 years of life.   
After that, the smial of Baggend was filled to the brim with practically starving Dwarves, a cheerful changeling, an entertained wizard, and a very upset Hobbit.   
-  
As Ori was currently winning a belching competition, all the Dwarves in Bilbo’s home had considerably relaxed, surrounded by familiar and familial faces, and bellies stuffed on Bilbo’s pantry.   
“If you don’t mind me asking, where do you all come from?” The stranger asked.  
“The blue mountains.” Kill replied lightning fast, always eager to talk to a new face.  
“How lovely.” Pangur said sincerely.   
“So, Master Pangur, where do you come from?” Fili suddenly inquired to the other boy, who was stuffing his mouth with bread, even now.   
Perhaps because Pangur’s mouth was full and he looked akin to a hungry chipmunk, Kili began guessing.   
“Er, Gondor? Rohan?”   
“Perhaps somewhere to the east? Or somewhere close to the Shire?” Ori, who sat next to them guessed.   
The round of hunches was enough time for Pangur to swallow his chewed up food, and he did give an answer.   
“I live everywhere, nowhere, and some places in-between.”   
Now, the three youthful Dwarves and some of the others sitting close by looked puzzled, quite obviously in fact, and were staring at this new face expectantly.   
“I get around.” Pangur shrugged, grabbing another slice of bread and slathering a good deal of jelly onto it, then practically devouring it such as a warg might consume some poor man.  
“A vagabond, ey? Tried it, not for me.” Bofur commented thoughtfully, chewing on the end of his pipe. This reply seemed to spark recognition in the eyes of the others.   
“A traveler?”   
“But where were you born?”   
“East of here, not exactly sure where though.” Pangur managed with a still full mouth, legs returned to that uncomfortable position he seemed accoustumed to.   
“When was the last time you ate, lad?” Bofur asked, clearly bewildered at the amount of food the other was practically inhaling.   
“Just today, in Mr. Baggins’s kitchen.”   
“Before that.”   
The creature simply shrugged and tore into another slice.  
-  
After a very merry song concerning Bilbo’s cutlery, the laughter and loud conversation was abruptly stopped when an especially loud knock came at the door.   
“He is here.” Gandalf’s tone was suddenly serious.   
“Who?” Bilbo wondered aloud, suddenly looking frightened once more.   
“Our king.”  
-  
Pangur thought these Dwarves were a very fun, lively crowd as far as crowds go. She had never met a group who were as closely-knit as them, which was by all means impressive.   
They were nothing like the Dwarf she had last encountered. She wondered if the poor fellow was still treading the roads like that, his eyes crazy, burn marks on all his limbs.   
When she heard a king was at the door, she stopped shoving bread down her throat and wiped the crumbs from her lips hurriedly.   
She had met many, many different kinds of people before, but never royalty. Certainly, she had no clue how she was supposed to act around royalty.   
Wracking her brain, she could only remember when Her friend from the Ironhills, (whom she met on the great east road,) was so appalled by her exclusively informal greetings and farewells that she forced Pangur to learn some formal ones.   
And thank the Valar Lufam was a Dwarrowdam.   
Think, think... introductions...  
Snapping out of her thoughts she saw from her little corner that the door was open.  
Oh. She had heard of this Dwarf from Lufam.   
There stood Thorin Oakenshield, clad in blue fabrics and his silver armor and belt, long raven hair streaked with gray and blue eyes trained on the wizard. Just like Lu’s description too, he looked every bit like a king.   
As Pangur snapped out of her musings, she caught a;  
“He looks more like a grocer than a burglar to me.”   
So, Pangur stood silently in respect with the rest of the guests, as Bilbo was insulted at the door, the Hobbit now opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water.   
Thorin entered the room with all the others, and scanned his company as a headcount, he almost immediately took notice of Pangur in the corner, who was sticking out like a sore thumb.   
“And who might you be?” His eyes narrowed in suspicion, brow furrowing just as Gandalf entered the room behind him.   
“Pangur, at your service your majesty.” Pangur said, dropping to one knee and looking at the floor, resting her right hand on her heart and trying her best to look like she vaguely knew what she was doing.   
silence was what she was met with, and for a tense moment she though that perhaps she had brought offense?   
“You may rise.” Thorin sounded pleasantly surprised, but she couldn’t be certain, as her eyes were still trained on Bilbo’s polished wood floor.   
“Er, thank you, your majesty.”   
Scrambling back to her feet, she was now looking down at the king by a foot, but only literally. The stories she had heard of Thorin Oakenshield were inspiring tales of a warrior, an honorable king who sought refuge for his people in the blue mountains and helped rebuild their lives after the dragon. Lufam and her mother had told countless tales of such to Pangur, so it felt surreal to be standing in front of the king.   
“Do tell, what is your business here, master Pangur?” Thorin questioned calmly, looking a great deal less hostile.   
Looks like I made a decent first impression?  
“To be honest your majesty, I’m not sure.” Pangur gave a crooked smile, surprising Thorin with a set of not-so pearly and very sharp whites.   
Well, have they ever NOT surprised someone?  
Gandalf, (bless him,) took control of the situation.   
“I encountered Master Pangur this morning purely by chance, as he was traveling close to the Shire’s eastern border.” Gandalf explained, taking a long draw of smoke from his pipe as the gathering of Dwarrow grew impatient.   
“Why did you bring him with you?” Thorin asked.   
“I was going to explain,” Gandalf huffed, “ He’s quite the intriguing lad, I’m sure some of you have noticed his teeth,” Pangur smiled again, gaining some bizarre looks from the company, “He’s half Changeling, and Changelings are very good luck, it is a very rare luck to come across a changeling on the day before a quest- I believe perhaps it is a sign. Now, you are not obligated to bring him along- but I do ask that you consider it.” Gandalf finished, gaining a cross look from Thorin.   
“I don’t believe that that would be-”   
“You do not have to pay him- just think of him as an unofficial member of your party, like myself. He wouldn’t be traveling with you for very long either.” Gandalf interrupted the king, attempting to reason with the stubborn Dwarf.   
“Sorry Mr. wizard, but, I didn’t agree to any of this. You only told me that I could stay with a friend of yours in the Shire for the night.” Pangur raised a brow.   
“He said what?” Bilbo practically demanded.   
Now with three different people all expectantly waiting for an answer, Gandalf sighed.   
“Well, think of this; Master Pangur holds no value on gold, precious gems, or anything of the sort,” this earned more queer looks from the Dwarrow, “ More importantly, he is very well aquatinted with the great east road, from Lindon to Rivendell, and he has traveled over the misty mountains and as far east as Rohan, he could serve as a guide for your company when I am off on my own business.”   
“Why should I go?” Pangur gazed at him wearily.   
“Master Pangur, you said yourself his very morning that you would be venturing across the misty mountains before winter came, and you know very well of that terrain and its inhabitants.” Gandalf all but chided.   
Pangur merely put his hands up in surrender and his face regained a neutral look.   
“Are you quite finished, Gandalf?”   
“Why yes, Master Oakenshield.”   
Thorin reluctantly turned his gaze to Pangur once more, taking in the looks of the boy from up to down.   
He was a scrappy, skinny thing, with weak looking arms, but strong legs and weatherworn, more so than a good deal of his company.   
He was also a great deal more respectful than most of the race of men he met. If the lad was as knowledgeable about their path as the wizard claimed, and supposedly good luck, well...   
“I will consider this proposition. Now then,” Thorin made his way in the direction of Bilbo’s pantry, “ Dinner, and a meeting is in order.”


	4. Of dwellings and homes

The song Thorin sang was inspirational, to say the least, a majestic lament that became more beautiful and yet more sorrowful when the other Dwarves began to join in. 

Pangur sat on the floor, resigned to the shadow in the room as firelight danced upon the company- Dwarves of Erebor finding a small piece of comfort in one another, it was best for herself and Gandalf to say stooped in the corner. 

The wizard himself looked contemplative, which was understandable. 

As the Dwarves finished their song, the room sat in a heavy, anticipating sort of silence, until a knot popped in the fire and Oin let out a yawn, and everyone but Thorin began to look half asleep. 

The Dwarves all shuffled off to bed, in Bilbo’s pantry, in the halls, in rooms, all clumped together according to family. 

After a good bit of time even Gandalf got up and retreated to the man sized room at the back of Baggend. 

In the sitting room with the fire beginning to dim, still sat Thorin in one great, solitary armchair, and Pangur, watching very curiously with her big yellow eyes from the shadows. 

“Do you miss Erebor, your majesty?” 

Thorin gave Pangur an unreadable look. 

“Yes.” 

A loud knot popped in the fireplace.

“Why?” 

“You would not understand, traveler.” His brow one again was lowered. 

Pangur gave him a closed mouth smile, a smile that looked very tired. 

“That’s right.” 

For a long time, neither of them said a word, and Thorin thought about how young the lad was, ( younger than his nephews, younger than Frerin,) and how what he said was rude.

Pangur thought about how stupid she could be to ask a question that she could never understand, even if someone explained it to her. 

Thorin spoke; “ I miss it for the comforts of home. For the forge, for my family, for our honor, for the dark of the mines and the glimmer of the gems inside. Erebor was my life, my peoples hope, and our home. I miss it in many ways that I cannot describe.” 

“I’ve never had someplace that I loved so much. You loved it, to remember it so fondly. That’s nice.” Pangur smiled again, this time it reached her eyes. 

Thorin’s expression was sour no longer, and even after they had spent another silence together and Thorin had walked off to a guest room, Pangur still curled up like a loaf of bread in the oven, right next to Bilbo’s fireplace with embers still glowing orange and purple, and nodded off much like your cat would while she sunbathed on a good afternoon. 


End file.
